Dear Hypocrite,
I know you’re not a therapist. I’ve been reading your column for six years and every time you answer a letter you restate that you do not have any professional credentials. I thought I’d go ahead and get that out of the way for you. I so happen to be a therapist—I work with families dealing with physical and emotional abuse. I envy that you’re able to offer advice without the weight of accountability. If I imagined a career like yours before I went to grad school, I think I would’ve taken a different road. But, as you’ll see when I get to my reason for writing, I’m quick to envy the lives of others.
First, let me give you some background. I’m a single mom, though I share custody of my two kids with my ex. I live in North Slope on the second floor of a brownstone just off Flatbush Avenue. It’s a big one bedroom. I let my kids have the bedroom and I sleep on the foldout couch in the living room. It’s a warm, cheery home. We feel very safe and have a good relationship with our landlord.
The problem? I spend an inordinate amount of time, like most Park Slope parents, pushing a stroller around the neighborhood. And for the past year or so, as I walk the sidewalks, I invariably begin to obsess over real estate. I study every house and building I pass, imagining the carefree lives of those homeowners inside. Surrounded by the vast amount of keepsakes that their spacious abodes allow, they sip tea from cups passed down from their grandmothers and are content knowing that they are living in an investment. I picture them up in their attics searching for holiday decorations or old photos of the family. In the spring, I visualize them going down into the basement to bring up the bikes for their first park ride of the season. All of this creative imagery has left me feeling very resentful towards my neighbors who own. It’s gotten to the point where I ignore them when I pass them on the street. It’s juvenile, I know. But I can’t help myself.
There’s more. I agonize over squandered opportunities to buy in the ‘90s. Why didn’t we buy that duplex on Carlton? We could’ve found the money for that three bedroom on Eighth Avenue. At bedtime, I tell my kids stories of traveling back in time to fight alongside knights and cast spells with sorceresses. When my kids fall asleep, I tell myself stories about going back to the early 1900s to buy the building that is now the Society of Ethical Culture when it was up for sale. (Did you know it was originally a single-family home owned by William Childs, inventor of Bon Ami Cleaning Powder?) I bet I could’ve nabbed it for eight bucks.
It’s affecting my job. Between the appointments and paperwork, I slide down the wormholes that are Trulia and Zillow. On the weekends, I drag the kids by the real estate office windows on Seventh Avenue in order to stay current with the listings. I feel confident in saying that I know every property available within a fifteen-block radius of the Park Slope Food Coop.
I need help. This obsession is taking up time and energy and is making me feel ashamed and miserable. I haven’t brought it up with my own therapist because she owns a home in Park Slope. She’s going to want to discuss how I feel about her, and I’d rather not. (I resent her, of course.)
Signed,
Green Monster in North Slope
Dear Green,
Some thanks are in order. Thanks for getting my non-therapist disclaimer out of the way. It really is a burden for us uncertified, free of charge, hypocritical life coaches. Sometimes I think it’s all I do all day —tell people that I’m not a therapist. And thanks for referring to what I do as a career. That made me feel good. And six years? Have I been hacking out this column that long? Good grief. Well, thanks for reading. I hope what I’m about to say helps you.
First of all, you are not a terrible person. From my vantage point, you are a very decent person. You sleep on the sofa, for crying out loud. And you do good work by helping people who can’t help themselves. You will surely get a choice condo in heaven. But in the meantime, there’s no need to feel ashamed of your problem. I’m big on envy. It keeps the blood pumping. Personally, I envy people who know how to dress, have good hair, have a healthy relationship with alcohol, and have parents who are spry and able to babysit. My, I just disclosed a great deal of information about myself. Let’s quickly move on.
Everyone has or has had an online obsession: Facebook, Twitter, Gawker, Geneology.com, Reddit, Xtube, you name it. Your obsession is founded on your desire for permanence and is completely understandable. You want a cave your kids will inherit when you get picked apart by vultures. You’re not the only one who feels this primal urge to own. Because your neighborhood is stupid expensive, I imagine real estate obsession is pretty common in your parts. So, it’s time to stop beating yourself up.
As I see it, you have two choices. Which one you choose depends on the feasibility factor. Are you really in a financial position to own at this time,or are you indulging in fantasy? If you think you could fork over a robust down payment, then choose option one. If you’re worried about how to pay the babysitter, then look into option two.
Option one: Get practical about it. Form a relationship with a realtor and tell all—what you’re looking for, how much you can afford, where you want to live. And then pour yourself a glass of pinot, pick up a novel, and let your realtor do the obsessing. When you finish the novel, pay a visit to your bank and get a mortgage pre-approval letter. It’s not as easy as it used to be, but so what? You need to know if you’re being realistic about this dream of yours, or if you’ve been getting high from the second-hand ganja smoke you’ve been inhaling walking behind the high school kids on your way home.
Option two: If you know there’s no way you can afford a place in your neighborhood, quit this obsession cold turkey. Don’t look at another listing. Stop being a slave to “what if?” and move on to “what now?” (Ooooo, that’s good. Watch out Suze Orman!) There are lots of tricks that can help in breaking compulsive habits. Some involve snapping rubber bands on the wrist, journaling, or enlisting friends and coworkers to help you. Be wary of replacing one obsession with another. Giving up cigarettes for ice cream produces a whole other set of problems. (Ooooo, nicotine-infused ice cream… Look out, Ben and Jerry!) Once you do give up your real estate obsession, you will find yourself with more time and energy, and it’s important to find healthy ways to spend them. Reconnect with old friends. Take a class. Plan a trip. Do what makes you feel good—only you know what that is. And while you might not be able to afford a new place to live, you can make some changes to your current home. Buy your dream couch or paint your living room a new color. If you can’t lose the weight, at least get a good haircut, right? I would never do any of this, but you should.
Green, I hear you. I’m sorry that you’re going through this. But let me offer a little perspective. I once traveled to Turkey on my own for a month. One night, I ate dinner with a man who worked in a souvenir shop near my hotel. At the end of the meal, I told him I would visit him the following afternoon. Early the next morning, I got some news that resulted in me having to leave immediately. I went to say goodbye, but his shop was closed. I asked a man sweeping nearby, and he pointed to a bungalow behind the building. I walked down the alley and entered the bungalow, where I found my friend sleeping in a queen-sized bed with five of his brothers. Six spooning, grown men in one bed. We often compare ourselves to our neighbors, but the world is filled with people who live in many different ways. Try comparing yourself to people not as fortunate as you, and you will be humbled. Don’t get me wrong, it’s completely natural to want more out of life. I can guarantee you that those neighbors drinking tea out of their grandmas’ cups want more too. Maybe they don’t want bigger brownstones, but maybe they want their grandmas back. Green, stay in the moment and appreciate what you do have. And things will change if you work hard to make owning a reality. In five years, you could be paying your mortgage instead of your rent. I sincerely believe that with sixty-five percent of my heart. So, until then, quit obsessing about what you don’t have, and enjoy your kids. They grow up so fast. One day your home will be too big.
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